


Culture Clash

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [69]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening out at the ballet takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culture Clash

“There, an evening of culture wasn’t too terrible, was it, my little turtledove?” Lester asked solicitously as he and Lyle made their way towards the river, enjoying a stroll in the last of the late evening sunlight.  
  
“I feel bound to point out, darling, that watching a bunch of blokes poncing around in tights and pretending to be swans is marginally less entertaining than sitting through another one of Cutter’s lectures on why I shouldn’t engage in a little light pest control,” Lyle commented.  
  
Lester stifled a grin. Lyle’s diatribes on the subject of ballet had been known to last all weekend and sometimes well into the following week. He was seriously considering suggesting that the Special Forces lieutenant applied for an Arts Council grant to take them to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.   
  
“In the interests of accuracy… Firstly, I feel honour-bound to point out that there were no swans in that performance of Manon and secondly, you spent a noticeable proportion of the evening ogling Des Grieux’s arse.”  
  
“I was asleep!”  
  
“You were ogling. And you know perfectly well you’ll make me pay for this next weekend.”  
  
“North Hill Swallet,” Lyle said with evident satisfaction. “It’s a classic.”  
  
“It has no redeeming features whatsoever.” Lester countered. He had actually done the cave in his student days, but he didn’t think Lyle knew that.   
  
“The entrance pitch is nice…”  
  
“I’ll grant you that.”  
  
Lyle shot him a sideways glance. “Bugger, you’ve already done it, haven’t you?”   
  
Lester could see Lyle starting to mull over other possibilities for revenge, all no doubt involving the smallest, tightest underground passages that the Mendip Hills had to offer. But as games went, he had to admit this was one he rather enjoyed. At least it added spice to life of the non-dinosaur variety. And it had been a while since he’d tested Lyle’s powers of endurance with opera…  
  
They made their way alongside the Thames in the direction of Whitehall Court, which housed Lester’s flat. The shadows of evening were deepening and lights were starting to shine on the water. A pleasure cruiser moved slowly along the river, the laughter of its occupants mingling with the harsh cries of the gulls wheeling above the boat. Around them people, young and old, walked at varying speeds, some taking in the sights, others moving more purposefully. In addition, the usual assortment of dog-walkers and joggers added to the ever-moving pattern of London life.  
  
Lester looked across at the London Eye, turning slowly and sedately on its axis. In spite of having observed it from the window of his flat ever since its construction, he’d never actually taken a trip in one of its pods. Maybe he’d refrain from inflicting more culture on Lyle when it was his turn to choose their weekend entertainment…  
  
The shriek of a seagull morphed into something louder and more startling. At his side, Lyle paused in mid-step and pivoted as smoothly as the dancers they’d just been watching, turning to face the source of the noise and instantly assessing the level of threat.  
  
The screaming was coming from the throat of a woman in her early 30s, held at knifepoint by a kid who couldn’t have been out of his teens. Around them, a small gang had gathered, all dressed in a uniform of grey hooded tops, loose tracksuit bottoms and trainers. One of them had already grabbed the woman’s handbag, while another held her wrist in what must have been a painfully tight grasp as a third attempted to strip the rings from her fingers.  
  
The woman’s companion, a man a couple of years older stepped forward, a look of shock on his face. “Leave her alone, please…”  
  
One of the kids shoved him hard in the chest and the man went down. Instantly, the others were on him kicking him hard and jeering. Lester saw blood from what looked like a broken nose spreading across his face as he curled into a ball and tried to protect himself. All around them people were standing still, shock on their faces. A few were even edging away, anxious not to be caught up in a violent confrontation.  
  
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.   
  
“Stay out of it, call the police and an ambulance,” Lyle instructed calmly and then he was moving forward with the fluid grace that came of long hours of combat training.  
  
As Lester pulled out his mobile phone and started to dial the emergency services, Lyle grabbed one of the gang by the shoulder and hauled him backwards off the man on the ground.  
  
“Ambulance and police, please,” Lester said as the operator answered.   
  
The man on the ground had taken several nasty kicks and one of the little sods was now waving a knife around.  
  
Lester realised that this was the first time he’d ever seen Lyle in action against a human opponent, although he’d watched numerous practice fights between the Special Forces contingent. When they weren’t spending taxpayers’ money on ammunition on the underground gun range at the ARC their favourite hobby appeared to be trying to damage each other. His stomach gave a small lurch of fear as the teenager with the knife spun around to face Lyle, the six-inch blade in his hand weaving dangerously.  
  
“A mugging on…” Lester looked around to be sure exactly where they were and quickly gave their position. “There are six of them, they’ve got knives. A man has been stabbed.”  
  
The distraction Lyle had provided took the muggers’ attention away from the man on the ground. The woman was sobbing hysterically, on her knees next to him and Lester suddenly realised that there was blood on her hands. The man must have been stabbed as well.  
  
The teenagers circled Lyle as more knives started to appear in their hands. The woman wasn’t the only one screaming now, but the whole scene still seemed to be playing out in slow motion.  
  
Lester answered the questions he was being asked mechanically, describing what he could see. From the wild looks on the faces of at least three of the muggers, they were hyped up on drugs or drink. One of them lunged at Lyle, the blade already stained with blood. Lyle side-stepped and grabbed the teenager’s wrist, using his momentum against him. The boy’s arm broke with an audible snap.   
  
One of the others was taken down with a hard blow from the heel of Lyle’s hand, driven straight into the boy’s face, doing as much damage to his nose as they’d already done to the man on the ground. Fists and feet accounted for the two closest to him.  
  
Lyle was left facing two muggers both wielding knifes. It was clear that neither of them was prepared to back down. A vicious swipe from one blade almost laid the soldier’s chest open but then the mugger found himself on his back, the knife spinning away across the paving stones to rest against the river wall.  
  
The second mugger launched himself forwards, screaming something that Lester couldn’t make out. A second later, he was on the ground, gasping rather than screaming.  
  
Lester suddenly realised that the emergency services operator was still talking to him. “Make that two ambulances,” he said, his heart hammering in his chest.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lester fumbled in his pocket for the keys to his flat and wasn’t wholly surprised to find that his hand was shaking slightly as he tried to insert the key into a hole that appeared to have inconveniently shrunk while he’d been out.  
  
They’d spent nearly two hours spent giving statements to the police, fortified only by probably the worst coffee he’d ever had the misfortune to drink, before making their way home by taxi. Just as they’d been about to leave the police station they’d been informed that the man who’d been stabbed would be fine. He had three broken ribs and a deep wound in his side, but the blade had missed anything vital. His girlfriend was deeply shocked, but unhurt.  
  
Lyle took the key from him without a word and opened the door. As soon as they were inside the flat, Lester found himself being pulled into a pair of strong arms and thoroughly kissed.  
  
When they drew apart, Lyle said, “Sorry if I gave you a fright.”  
  
Lester rested his head on his lover’s shoulder for a moment. “It was certainly somewhat… unexpected.” And so was the erection he’d suddenly found himself in possession of.  
  
Lyle grinned at him. “Adrenaline reaction, sweetums. It’s perfectly normal.”  
  
Lester closed his eyes for a moment and tightened his arms around Lyle. “There were six of the little fuckers, Jon, and three of them had knives.”  
  
The use of Lyle’s first name had signalled an end to their usual games. Lester felt like every nerve in his body had chosen that moment to dance a particularly energetic tango.  
  
“You need a drink,” Lyle said, returning the hug. He gently propelled Lester into the living room and poured two large brandies.   
  
The alcohol burned a trail down Lester’s throat, spreading welcome warmth into his stomach and quelling the feeling of nausea that had been besetting him for the past hour. Inexplicably, and much to his disgust, he realised that he was shivering, even though the night was still warm. He gulped down the rest of the brandy and held the glass out for a refill. He’d lived in London for nearly 20 years and that was the first time he’d ever encountered that sort of random violence and it had shocked him deeply.  
  
The creatures the teams dealt with were one thing, but human attackers, high on a mixture of drugs and booze, not caring who they hurt, were something else entirely. His mind replayed the scene over and over again but this time it was Lyle he saw lying on the ground, blood pouring from his stomach, while all Lester did was stand there and watch…  
  
“James, I’m fine, there’s not a bloody scratch on me.” Lyle’s voice was quiet and lacked its usual irreverent tone. Lester watched as his lover tipped out another large measure of brandy. Lester drank it more slowly than the first, still shivering slightly. When he’d finished, Lyle relieved him of the glass and delivered another expert kiss, his tongue sweeping possessively into Lester’s mouth while his fingers went to work on the zip of Lester’s trousers.  
  
Lester groaned into Lyle’s mouth when he felt the first drag of a gun-calloused hand on the aching length of his cock. Lyle’s lips worked against his while the soldier’s fingers jerked him hard and fast. It was a shade too rough, but that didn’t stop him thrusting up into Lyle’s fist, desperately seeking relief from the tension of the past few hours. He fumbled with Lyle’s zip, knowing he wasn’t the only one who needed release. Lyle paused for a moment while Lester freed his cock and then wrapped his hand around both of their erections and continued to work them steadily to climax.  
  
The drag of his foreskin over the sensitive head of his cock made Lester gasp and he felt an orgasm start to coil in his guts. The kiss they were sharing was messy and uncoordinated but when he felt Lyle nip lightly at his lower lip, it was all Lester needed to tip him over the edge. Lyle used the thick fluid to lubricate the last few strokes needed to precipitate his own orgasm and then he held Lester through the shudders that had started to wrack his body.   
  
When his breathing finally came back to something approaching normal, Lester lifted Lyle’s hand to his mouth and slowly licked their mingled come off the soldier’s fingers before pressing a kiss into the palm of his hand.  
  
He rested his head on Lyle’s shoulder again. “Thanks, Jon, I needed that.”  
  
Lyle gave him a lazy smile. “You weren’t the only one. The hardest thing about this evening was not actually killing any of the little fuckers, so I’d had enough of exercising restraint for one night.”  
  
Lester looped an arm around Lyle’s waist. “We’ll give up on culture for a while, shall we, petal?”   
  
“I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking eventually, dumpling,” Lyle said smugly, picking the summer programme for the National Opera House up off the table by the window and consigning it to the wastepaper bin.


End file.
